


running up that hill

by PrettyYoungThing



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Blind Character, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Genderbending, Useless Lesbians, because men did her SO dirty, medusa is a lesbian because i said so, medusa/blind girl, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:02:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29520579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyYoungThing/pseuds/PrettyYoungThing
Summary: "Do you not know the fear my name incurs in the ranks of the race of men?" Sakusa hisses, teeth flashing in the rays of sun that filter through the cave's opening. "I was born Sakusa. They call me Medusa now."A moment passes. Then two. Miya's lips tip downward into a frown that betrays an air of confusion. By now, even the stupidest of soldiers would be scrabbling out of her cave as quickly as his feet could take him."And I'm Atsumu," Miya repeats slowly, as if Sakusa is attempting to make her acquaintance rather than send her dashing into the hills. "Nice to meet ya."
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 12
Kudos: 97





	running up that hill

Her name was Sakusa, and her tale was not a happy one. 

She had been cast out and away from the world, chased to its corners, hunted down by its inhabitants, all because of the wrath of a vengeful goddess who was simply too powerful to evade. Sakusa - _Medusa_ , they had taken up calling her - had once been beautiful, and for that she had paid the ultimate price. She was seduced by a god of gods, he who controls the seas and the hurricanes that ravage them, in a place much too sacred for their bodies to have found unity. 

For her crime, she had been stripped of her ivory-fair skin and the rivers of inky locks that fell in curls past her shoulders. Her skin began to slough off in pieces on her arms and face, only to be replaced by dully-shimmering scales; her hair started to writhe and hiss and snap with fangs dripping of venom. And her eyes, black as the midnight skies above, became her only weapon against a world that had turned against her. All that remained of her former beauty were two dots above her right eye, a twin set of moles that came to serve as a constant snakebite upon her brow. 

To meet eyes with Medusa was to welcome death with open arms. It was the ultimate punishment: an unnaturally long life designed to be spent alone and sought after only by those who wished for her head on a mantle.

And thus, she sheltered in the damp and desolate places of the earth, far from the race of men, who she had so quickly grown to loathe. At first, she had mourned. Sakusa had wept for the loss of her hair, for the loss of a possible happy future. She had mourned, and mourned, and mourned until she could find no more tears to spill upon the stone floor of her cave. 

The grief was quickly replaced with anger. Her mouth, once curved in an alluring smile, was perpetually twisted into a furious snarl; she found no remorse in turning soldier after arrogant soldier to stone with her gaze. The world had failed Sakusa, and so she would take no pity for it when it fell.

* * *

_That's the third one they sent after me this week. There must be a new shipment of people in._

She sighs through the fabric of the cloth that wraps around her head and covers her mouth. The wood of the makeshift brush she holds bites into her palm, but she ignores the dull ache, dipping its bristles back into the bucket of water at her feet. Its contents slosh over the sides with the brush's interruption, rippling back into place when it leaves. 

The brush makes contact with the wall of the cave with a swish; next to clean is her sleeping area, then a spot slightly closer to the cave's entrance. Her movements are practiced and sure. She's run this course for more days than she could ever hope to count, used it to fill the seemingly endless hours in between when she rises and resigns herself to her bed. Sakusa may be destined for a life of suffering and solitude, but if there's one thing she can keep in check, it's her living space. Dry and lifeless as her cave may be, she refuses for it to be dirty. 

When she's finished, the bucket is nearly empty. She carries it to a far wall and sets it down where she always does. It's the closest to a feeling of satisfaction that she can get. 

She retires to her makeshift bed, a large gathering of fine fabrics cut from bolts of expensive cloths. They've been ripped from those too slow to move before Sakusa tears their capes from their haughty shoulders in the moments before death. Rich scarlets and violets now weave together into a plush mound in a corner of the cave which is shielded by an outcropping of stone. She's even managed to snatch a few pillows from their empty camps down at the base of her mountain. She hardly misses the early days, when she slept on nothing but the unforgiving cave floor. 

The pillows cushion her elbows as she reaches to the edge of her bed that presses against the wall, fishing out a worn wooden tablet and rough bit of charcoal. Sakusa doesn't know what she'll draw; her well of creativity has run dry long ago. Nonetheless, she grips the charcoal tighter, feeling the chalky texture of it against underneath the pads of her fingers. It presses against the tablet as she prepares to dash a first stroke of ashy black across the surface and-

" _Ow!_ Damnit, I hate this stupid rock. 'It'll be good for yer health,' they said. 'The sea air will clear yer lungs,' they said. Sea air, my ass, I'm gonna fuckin' die on this hill!" 

Sakusa freezes. She feels her serpents twist and knot together in agitation, rising slightly off of her scaled shoulders. Her brows furrow as she stands. She is silent; she knows her cave down to the last stone, can move through it as if she is made of wind. This is her home, the last place in the world where she may hide, and it is the cage in which she traps her prey. 

Her fingers grasp onto the outcropping as she peers apprehensively around the corner at an angle which would be almost impossible to meet at a distance. Nobody ventures deep into her cave, for all are well-acquainted with the warnings that accompany the songs sung of her misery. Well, almost nobody. 

A young woman stands glaring down at her feet no more than forty feet from where Sakusa crouches. Her eyes appear unfocused, almost glazed, but they still manage to glint with irritation. Long, blonde hair seeps down her shoulders and back from where it is gathered above the nape of her neck. The wisps of hair at the base are a dark, rich shade of brown. 

She's quite lovely, as women go, and quite a nuisance. Sakusa wants her gone or dead, whichever happens faster. The only reason she hasn't already met the world's final jury is that she appears to be unarmed. 

And in this moment of distraction, Sakusa's foot brushes a pebble, sending it skittering to collide with a wall. The woman's head snaps up, eyes wide and leering. "Who's there?"

In a flash, Sakusa's fangs are bared, snakes hissing their mute fury at the newcomer's intrusion. She's been discovered, and with a life such as hers, discovery means death. Every moment spent lingering is an uptick in the likelihood of danger; the woman seems unassuming but that does not mean she is not lethal. Sakusa has met less outwardly threatening would-be murderers in her time. 

Her feet barely make a sound as she steps out from behind stone, but the sight of her alone is enough to send the bravest men into shock. Some begin to weep, others grab hold of their swords, and more still fall to their knees. She never cares much about what they choose to do. Their ends are all the same.

So when the woman's gaze refuses to even falter, even as Sakusa moves directly into her line of vision, a bolt of unease races up her spine. What could this invader possibly be hiding underneath the foam-white folds of her dress? What blessing has she been given - how swift is her stride? 

"You better come out before I make ya," the woman calls in what must be a weak attempt at intimidation, and for the second time, Sakusa halts. 

She creeps closer, closer. Thirty feet away, then twenty, then ten. Her steps are deliberate, as if one wrong move will send a lash into her side, but the golden-haired newcomer makes no attempt to flee. In fact, she only widens her stance a fraction, pulling her fists up close to her face. 

"I may look weak, but I'm about to put ya through a _world_ of pain, whoever you are!" 

Their eyes have yet to fully meet, but as soon as they do, it will be over. Sakusa is almost regretful - she's just on the cusp of curiosity. This woman is new, different. She almost wants to know more. But not quite. 

Her eyes flash as her gaze bores into the pale brown irises of the blonde woman, and she waits for the split-second stutter of breath that precedes the inevitable. Nothing. Not even a gasp. Sakusa feels another icy thrill hurtling through her veins. The shock of the nothingness leaves her open, momentarily vulnerable. She is a rabbit out of its den. In a moment of sheer idiocy, she does something unheard of: she speaks. 

"Why are you here?" Sakusa snarls. 

The woman wheels backward, arms flailing in an attempt to right herself. Her mouth drops open as her eyes blow almost comically large. Fear has finally settled in. And then her face untwists itself, screwing instead into a mixture of annoyance and bewilderment. 

"Holy shit, ever heard of manners?" Her eyes narrow, still unsettlingly distant. It's as if she's looking through Sakusa, rather than at her. "Ya can't just sneak up on people like that!"

_What?_

Sakusa's hands clench and unclench, winding themselves into fists and unfurling again. The floor of the cave is suddenly too cold, too unfamiliar. This is new, and newness means danger. Yet despite all this, the growing blossoms of curiosity begin to take root. If it comes down to it, Sakusa is still taller than this woman, leaner. She could tear out her throat with her bare hands. 

So she replies, once again. Her voice drips with scorn. "I stood directly in front of you. That alone was your warning."

"That's just wonderful. Really, you're too sweet," the woman scoffs. She brings a hand up to jab a thumb back at herself. "If ya couldn't already tell, lady, that doesn't do much for people such as myself."

It clicks. 

"Can you-" Sakusa chooses her words extremely carefully. Her tongue sits dry in her mouth. "Can you see me?"

In spite of the incredibly precarious situation that she is in, the woman barks out a laugh. Her dialect is different than that of the locals - Aeolic, maybe. She's far from home. "Sweetheart, if I could see you, do ya think I would'a just stood here like a lump while ya crept up on me?"

The woman's rudeness is irritating at best, but Sakusa does her best to keep her voice level. "How did you find me here?"

"Well since ya asked so kindly, my name is Atsumu. Miya Atsumu, but there's no need for formalities between-" 

"How did you find me here?" Sakusa grits out. Her nails are biting points into her mottled palms. 

The woman - Miya - throws her hands into the air, presumably with frustration. Her voice has reached a much whinier pitch than before. "Hell if I know! I didn't even want to come, y'know, but 'Samu, my jerk sister, mind you, forced me to get on that rickety ship with her and sail out here 'for my sake,' can ya believe it?"

"I didn't-" Sakusa interrupts, but Miya continues on her tangent. She seems to be on a mission to bring a gorgon who has literally taken the lives of hundreds to her wit's end.

"And so we're livin' in the town way off somewhere - gods know I've been lost for hours - and it was hot as hell and boring as hell and I had to get out or else I was going to die then and there! So I decided to go on a walk, and I know what you'll say: 'Atsumu, blind girls can't go for afternoon strolls!' But fuck you and fuck that, I needed to get outta that town and breathe, and now I'm in the middle of nowhere with a cranky lady in a cave." She inhales deeply when she's done, as if to make up for all the air she lost mid-rant. 

Sakusa remains wholly unimpressed. If Miya is truly missing, as she says, then there will be parties looking for her come nightfall. Parties that would have no qualms trying to run someone such as the fabled Medusa through with the flat of a sword.

She puts as much venom as she can muster into her tone. "You need to leave. Now."

"Well, aren't you quite the hospitable host?" Miya mutters, and it becomes clear that she is also feeling the itch of irritation. She fidgets with a corner of her tunic, nimble fingers working their ay into and out of the fabric. "Listen, I dunno who the hell you are, but yer conversational skills need a helluva lot of work. If ya hadn't noticed, I'm _blind_. I don't even know how I got up here without dyin'. Tryin' to get back down would be a suicide mission."

Sakusa's already-threadbare patience is beginning to wear dangerously thin. Blindness be damned, Miya is going to leave her cave willingly or else find herself kicked down the rocky slopes. "I'm going to tell you one more time. You need to leave, and if you tell anyone that I'm here, I swear on all things holy and otherwise that I'll tear your useless eyes out with my teeth."

"Gods, lady!" Miya snaps. "Who the hell is out for ya that you're this scared of having a blind woman in yer dingy-ass cave?"

_Dingy? She's twelve feet from a woman who's killed legions and she's calling her home dingy?_

Fine, out with it then. Sooner or later the idiot will be made aware anyways. And then there will come the inevitable screams of horror and the dash down the mountain and the tens upon tens of soldiers with their crude shields and swords of bronze. 

"Do you not know the fear my name incurs in the ranks of the race of men?" Sakusa hisses, teeth flashing in the rays of sun that filter through the cave's opening. "I was born Sakusa. They call me Medusa now."

A moment passes. Then two. Miya's lips tip downward into a frown that betrays an air of confusion. By now, even the stupidest of soldiers would be scrabbling out of her cave as quickly as his feet could take him.

"And I'm Atsumu," Miya repeats slowly, as if Sakusa is attempting to make her acquaintance rather than send her dashing into the hills. "Nice to meet ya."

Sakusa bites back a frustrated snarl. The woman is clearly not understanding the position that she's in. "I am Medusa, the _gorgon_. Have you not been told tales of my malevolence, my anger? I could strike a hundred foot-soldiers dead with nothing more than a meeting of the eyes. My talons are quick enough to gut you like a carp."

"Yer name sounds familiar, sure, but I probably spaced out when they gave me the run-down." Miya shrugs, slender shoulders coming to a peak near her ears and falling to rest again in a graceful roll. "I mean, what's the use of bein' scared of someone who kills people when they look into her eyes when ya can't, ya know, look into her eyes?"

Despicably, she makes a point, but this only serves to fuel Sakusa's imminent rage. She's spent far too long talking with a newcomer who could mean nothing other than trouble. "You are going to leave this cave, or I will tear off your legs and leave you to rot outside."

The sun outside is beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting hues of orange and pink whirling into the horizon. It's getting late; Miya needs to leave _now_. 

"I think that if you were going to do that, ya would have already. Listen, I won't bother you if ya just let me stay here for one night, I promise. I can even weave for ya, or-"

"No!" Sakusa shouts, eyes narrowing into slits. Her lips pull taught with a sneer. "Your mere presence is putting my life at risk. I certainly will not be letting such a liability stay in my cave, particularly not one as irritating as you."

Miya's face falls, and if Sakusa was a more benevolent person, she'd probably feel the pull of guilt. Mutedly brown eyes trail downward to squint at the floor, pink lips drawn into a flat line. Unfortunately, Sakusa has long since been pushed past the point of benevolence. "Fine, I'll go. But only because you're such a jerk and my sister is probably cooking somethin' good for dinner."

Sakusa watches her leave without another word. She hears the sound of a cracking branch, a sharp yelp of pain, but she does not go outside to look. Instead, she returns to her bed, rolling over so her scaled back reflects the light of the dying sunset.

* * *

A week passes, and Sakusa gets no new visitors, sword-wielding or otherwise. One might call it lonely or depressing, and by all standards of life, it is. She spends her days scrubbing until the walls glitter with rivulets of water, sometimes pausing to trace lines of black onto a wooden tablet that all look the same in the end. If the world outside is quiet, she ventures out to gather the sweet figs and berries that grow nearby. 

She's nearly forgotten what companionship feels like. It's been years upon years since she's felt the cooling touch of fingers ghosting over her skin, the soft press of lips to her temple. Sakusa hasn't even met a person willing to speak to her past the standard intent to slaughter her like an animal in months, with one notable (irritating) exception. And if they're not trying to see her blood spill in ripples across her cave's floor, they're fleeing as quickly as they can, eyes blown wide with horror. 

A lesser soul would go mad from the isolation alone. But Sakusa is strong, stronger than most, and as such she grits her teeth, flashes her eyes, and perseveres. She draws and cleans and picks ripe fruits because they are what separate her from the true beasts of the world. She may be a woman of forked tongues and scales, a predator equipped to conquer the worlds of fauna and human alike, but she will not die like an animal. She stays sane to show the gods that she will never be knocked down without a fight to the very end. 

The sun is warm and gentle, kissing the scaled planes of her back and ankles. Sakusa wraps a careful hand around a low-hanging tree branch to steady herself as she passes underneath. Her dress's hem is lifted above the ground, gathered in bunches within her clutched fist. She must be quiet; the world outside of her cave is hostile, eager to lunge. 

Summer-ripened figs hang between deep green leaves a few feet away. They're plump and juicy, and will burst with flavor across her tongue when she sinks her teeth into the pulpy center. Figs are a rare treat, one she indulges in on particularly dark and intolerable nights. They sit in a carved wooden bowl in a corner, tucked away as her precious secret, and she will take one and eat it reverently and slow. 

She is careful to never take too many figs at once - six or seven at the most - for she cannot be greedy and take more than she will eat while ripe. They are her indulgence, and she is above the mindless enjoyment that humans seem oh-so eager to begin at any time. 

Her practiced fingers come up to pluck the figs from their residence, placing each one carefully in her wooden bowl. She is mindful of their texture, afraid to press bruises into their richly-colored surfaces and taint the only frail sweetness that she may enjoy. 

A faint crash in the distance sends her nearly crushing a fig between her fingers. She quickly drops it into the bowl, mottled with fresh bruises that darken its skin, and feels her shoulders rise up near her ears. Ridiculously, she wraps a protective arm around the bowl. Through the trees, a flash of blonde whips this way and that. 

_Is that-_

"Miya," Sakusa hisses, half-enraged and half-bewildered. "Why are you here?"

A tan hand breaches through the leaves, pushing them aside so Miya can step through. Her smile is broad and gleaming with an infuriating spark of pride, so wholly misplaced. She shouldn't be anywhere near this place. 

Miya beams even wider, all white teeth and pink lips. "Sakusa! I found you!"

* * *

Sakusa paces the floor of her cave, every now and then pausing to send a scorching glare in Miya's direction. Not that she's any the wiser, of course; the woman continues to gaze blankly at a wall from her seat upon a flat stone and smooth her fingers down the length of her tunic. Her eyes are set alight in the fading sunlight, simmering embers in an otherwise colorless abyss. Skin the color of freshly-pressed bronze, gifted its hue by days spent dozing in the sun or wading in wild streams, stands starkly against the pale dress. 

She briefly wonders if Miya has ever thought about what she looks like. The thought is quickly replaced by a flash of indignation. 

_How dare she return?_

"Since you're not sayin' anything, I bet I should probably tell ya why I came seeking out the biggest asshole on the island," Miya begins, unprompted. Out of spite, Sakusa almost tells her to be quiet, but she does want at least a shred of explanation, so her mouth stays pressed shut. "I was tryin' to get away from this creep back in town, ya know?"

No, Sakusa doesn't know. The only men that accost her are the ones who seemingly have the desire to become a piece of limestone, but in all fairness, she much prefers that to an unrepentant suitor. "So you came back to put my life in danger?"

Miya huffs out a breathless laugh. "Oh, c'mon! I figured that if anyone could protect my sorry ass, it would be you!"

The air leaves Sakusa's lungs. Such a simple statement, but one so entirely foreign that it delivers the same impact of a shield's slam to the chest. A feeling that she had so nearly forgotten swirls in her lungs and stomach, tight and warm and unfamiliar. Sakusa is a gorgon, a monster, and Miya had come to her for _help?_

"And why would I do that?" She mutters, but it's lacking some of its former bite. She's still trying to steady herself, still whatever it is that's coursing wildly through her veins. 

Miya grins. She's blinding, burning a flame all her own in the setting sun. "Because if ya were as terrible as you say ya are, you would'a killed me by now!" 

"That's awful reasoning."

"Maybe, but I'm not dead yet! Now, will ya let me stay, just for a night?" Her face is hopeful, almost childishly so. There's naivety in her half-there gaze, something wide and open and trusting. She's not yet been exposed to the fullness of the world's cruelty. 

For some idiotic, useless reason, Sakusa doesn't want her to see life for what it truly is. Not quite yet. She's too innocent, too quick to joke and too slow to tremble - still a young woman, one who senses fun in things she can't even see. And so, against every nerve in her body that screams at her to refuse and cast the woman out into the violet dark, Sakusa heaves a reluctant sigh. "For one night, and you leave by daybreak."

"Really?" It's as if the blonde had never expected a victory in the first place. How ridiculous this woman is. "Thank you, Sakusa! I won't bother ya, I promise! I can sleep right here!" 

She pats the stone she's sitting on. The dull, lifeless thud echoes throughout the cave, and Sakusa rolls her eyes. "I don't think it's possible for you to go without bothering me. But you're not sleeping on the floor with a rock as your pillow. I have spare blankets."

Miya's eyes practically sparkle. "Wow, you really are quite the hostess! Is there any way I can help?"

"Without tripping and splitting your skull open on the floor? No." Sakusa scoffs; if she didn't know any better, she would think that the idiot sometimes forgot her own blindness. She pointedly ignores the squawk of protest from Miya's direction. "If you need water, tell me. I can't guarantee kind treatment if you suddenly drop to the floor."

"You're sweet, in yer own weird and snippy way," Miya muses. Sakusa snaps her head to face her, shooting daggers with her gaze. Naturally, the blonde is entirely oblivious. "Like a smidge of honey inside a lemon slice."

"Unless you want to spend the rest of the night inside a boar's stomach, I suggest you stop talking."

* * *

Dinner is simple, nothing abnormal: smoked meat, seasoned with herbs plucked from between shoots of fresh grass, and a handful of multicolored berries each. It's twice her usual amount of food, and Sakusa grimaces at the thought of needing to go out to forage sooner than planned. 

Miya, on the other hand, seems to be wholeheartedly enjoying the meal. Her _oohs_ and _aahs_ over the meat would come across as mockery if it was from the mouth of another, but she's too painfully honest to be making any sort of jab. She munches happily on the berries; juice spatters her lower lip when she bites into a particularly ripe one, staining it purple and red. It's difficult for Sakusa to keep her eyes away from the sight, but that's probably just because she's such a neat eater by nature. 

The blond hums contentedly, swallowing down a particularly large piece of meat. "This is so good! I wish I could cook."

"Why don't you?" Sakusa asks, before she can stop herself. She narrows her eyes at her wooden plate - she's being too welcoming to someone that she'll never see again come sunrise. Then she realizes how entirely stupid her question was, and battles to keep embarrassed heat from rising into the tips of her ears. 

Miya chuckles softly, drawing her attention up and away from the remnants of her meal. "Well, ya don't exactly want the blind girl cutting things, or near a hot piece of iron. And ya definitely don't want her trying to toss herbs in - one wrong plant, and yer whole camp is down for the count."

"That's a number of good reasons to keep you away from the kitchen." 

"Ya think?"

"I do. In fact, stay away from my plate, if you don't mind. I don't want poison mixed in with my berries."

It's like Sakusa's lost her proper inhibitions. She keeps talking, indulging in conversations which serve no purpose and will only leave her feeling more alone than usual come tomorrow. Miya isn't a permanent resident; hell, she's not even a friend. But the cackling laugh that her half-joke receives causes the faintest smile to creep upward on her lips, so maybe it's okay to enjoy a single moment, for now. 

Figs are a rare treat, but in a moment of blind indulgence, she gathers one from her bowl and splits it in half. The pulp gathers under her nails, sweet and thick, but she pays it little mind. She hands one of the halves to Miya, who accepts it with a litany of thanks and a smile brighter than any of the candles that flicker in the dark. 

_She's going to be gone tomorrow,_ her mind whispers, eager to protect, always ready to shield herself from hurt. Sakusa pushes the thought aside for a moment to take the first bite of her half.

* * *

Miya's breaths are soft and even a few feet away, the only sound in the silence of the cave. It's both lulling and unsettling. Sakusa has all but forgotten what it's like to have someone else's presence in the dark. And the feeling of listening, watching, blinking away sleep for not only your own sake but for the sake of another? The lost familiarity almost makes her chest want to ache. 

It's been long, so long, since she's been trusted. Years have passed since someone has willingly turned their back to her without the fear of being torn to ribbons. She is Medusa, the slayer of men; Medusa, the half-woman, half-beast who only exists to kill or be killed. Yet despite this, in a moment of uncertainty, Miya came _here_ , because she felt safer with a supposed monster than with a man. 

In the dark, Sakusa's hands are just hands. Her hair skin is just skin. Her eyes are just eyes. She is not a living curse, a horror to behold. She is a woman, and a living, breathing one at that. In the dark, she can pretend that when she wakes, it will not be to the light of a world which loathes her for her crime of existing. The world when she wakes will kiss her hello in the morning and good luck when she leaves to pick berries.

* * *

Her eyes blink open, chasing away the last dregs of sleep. She can't remember what she dreamed of, but it was soft and warm and golden and hers. She turns to spare one last gaze at the first person to place trust in her in eons, and is met with only the dark crimsons of stitched-together capes and fine, lacing golds across a pillow.

Sakusa's heart would sink in her chest if it had risen at all in the first place. 

This was the inevitable end.

* * *

Except, it's not. 

Two days later, Miya comes stumbling to the entrance of her cave holding a woven basket and grinning like she's conquered Tartarus itself. "Sakusa, c'mere! 'Samu baked too much and told me to feed it to the birds!"

"Miya?" Sakusa's mouth parts slightly. She only half-convinces herself that it's out of annoyance. "You came back?"

"Of course I did, you idiot," Miya crows, holding the basket outstretched in front of her body. She's not even looking in Sakusa's direction, but she's smiling so brightly that all Sakusa can do is gulp down the beginnings of an amused huff. "Did ya really think I was gonna leave and never return after Miss Hostility herself actually let me sleep in her lovely cave?"

"Anyone capable of rational thought would have."

"Those types of people are never much fun, though!"

"Perhaps not."

* * *

As it turns out, Miya is able to find her way back each time by following a well-trodden path lined with stones. It only goes up part of the way, as nobody wanted to get very close to the gorgon's lair for the sake of a dirt path, but the trees and stones are heavily marked to point the way past the lined path's end. 

It's actually quite an easy feat, even for someone with closed eyes, Sakusa finds when she's feeling particularly brave one day. Arrows and short words are carved with deep strikes into the wood of trees and the solid surfaces of stones, and the path is still mostly flat and made of dirt. 

(This makes her feel a bit better, knowing that Miya hadn't been willingly putting herself in extra danger on the way up. Not that she cares, because Miya is an idiot who's lucky to not have been torn to shreds out of sheer irritation yet. 

That's what she tells herself, anyway.)

* * *

"Well, do ya like to sing?"

"Definitely not."

Miya frowns, deep in thought. "Do ya like to swim?"

"I only go to the river to bathe."

"Jeez, is there anything ya like doing aside from strikin' fear into the hearts of men, yada yada?"

Sakusa half-smiles. It seems like she's been doing that more often than not lately. Maybe she's been eating too many figs and they're beginning to make her go soft. "I sometimes draw, but I'm not much good."

"The one activity that I can't appreciate, huh?" The blonde drops her chin into her palm with a sigh. "That seems a bit unfair, don'tcha think?"

It's midday, a couple of sunrises after Miya's last visit. She's been coming more frequently now; some weeks, she arrives more days than she doesn't. Some days, she'll be clutching a basket in her tanned arms, always with a proud grin and a declaration of good food, courtesy of her sister. Her hair is always pulled back behind her head, though sometimes soft-looking pieces of spun gold will tug themselves free and come to rest around her face and on her shoulders. 

When that happens, Sakusa will occasionally find reasons to become immensely interested in the sheets that pool around her feet and waist. There's no reason to devote such rapt attention to a thing as silly as hair, no matter how long and airy, or lips, no matter how rosy and full. And there's definitely no reason to describe things as such. 

Worst of all, Sakusa's found herself almost beginning to look forward to Miya's visits. She's even found herself humming once or twice while beginning her daily assault on the dirt that rests in the crevices of her walls. She was quick to stop, embarrassed and confused above all else. How ridiculous it would be for the infamous Medusa to eagerly await the companionship of a blind girl. The songs sung of their so-called bond would be met with roaring laughter.

So she doesn't look forward to the visits, not one bit. 

But she does hum sometimes, without noticing, on the days when Miya is likely to arrive. 

"If I remember correctly, there are two activities that you can't appreciate. Your cooking skills are likely to be nothing short of lethal, if they're anything like your singing voice."

"You're mean, Sakusa, ya know that?"

"Yes, I'm well aware."

* * *

Miya begins to bring her bits of colored powder, fine enough to dip one's finger into and smear across a tablet. She's managed to trade things for them, she tells Sakusa: small mats she's woven, bracelets made of grass and flecks of mottled rocks. Her kindness - because that's what it is, as much as she likes to deny it - rocks Sakusa to her core, though she does her best to not think too hard about it. 

In return, Sakusa attempts to describe the colors for Miya, compares cerulean to the sound of water rushing over smooth river stones, likens merigold to the sensation of fire dancing in front of one's fingertips. There's no way she could ever do the rich hues justice; her words are at times curt and have the tendency to fail her, but the sunrise-bright smile that Miya awards her for her efforts make the attempts worth her while. 

She asks, one day, why Miya is so insistent upon returning day after day, when there are surely so many in her town who are drawn to her outgoing (if not slightly obnoxious) personality. 

Miya shrugs. "I have friends in town, sure. There's 'Samu, of course, and Bokuto and Hinata, and Kita and Suna and others that I've met. But I've known 'em for so long, and I see 'em every day, and I dunno, I like yer company. You're a good friend, even if you don't think ya are."

 _Friend?_ No, Sakusa is nobody's friend, least of all the girl with the golden hair and the pale brown eyes who's too quick to trust for her own good. Miya is dramatic and petty and loud as all hell, and sure she brings still-warm food and colorful powders, but Sakusa doesn't have friends. It's just not how she's meant to be. 

"I'm not your friend," she says finally, but no weight lifts off her chest. 

The blonde's expression falters, brows twitching together minutely, and a heavy feeling settles low in Sakusa's stomach. She dims only for a moment, quickly righting herself with one of her trademark grins. "Sure ya are, Sakusa. You're just too stupid to tell."

* * *

"I want you to meet my sister," Miya says simply, through a mouthful of berries. 

Sakusa nearly drops the piece of charcoal she's clutching in her hand. "Absolutely not."

She's met with a whine, which causes a muscle to jump in her jaw. Miya clasps her hands together, pleading, always painfully innocent. "C'mon, trust me! I can tie a blindfold around her eyes so she doesn't accidentally, y'know, die, and then you'll have two friends!"

"I knew you were stupid, but this is a new low," Sakusa says scornfully, too harsh. Miya recoils a fraction, and a flash of something unpleasant winds through her lungs. She ignores it, swiveling her body to better avoid the looming guilt. "Just because you're too brash to recognize that I am, above all else, a danger, that doesn't mean that others will be so readily accepting. What will happen when halfway up the slope, she realizes where you've been leaving to almost every afternoon? How long will it be until the men come hunting me down?"

Miya opens her mouth to speak, but Sakusa continues. She's afraid, so very afraid of the price her complacency will bring. She's grown too comfortable, softened by thick bread and cackling laughter. "How many will come, Miya? Ten, twenty, or fifty? How quickly will they shepherd you away, onto a ship bound for another harbor? When they come to kill me, do you think they will already be pulling you away from this mountain, or will they make you watch?"

"Sakusa!" Her voice is clear and strung tight. Sakusa turns to face her, rips her gaze away from the coarse walls, and starts when her eyes meet pale ones brimming with barely-unshed tears. "Don't say those things. I would never let 'em hurt you."

"And how will you protect me?" Sakusa's voice is barely more than a whisper. "How can you protect people if you can't even see?"

Miya stands in a flash, heartache and indignation swirling across her face. It's like a blow to the stomach. She has never let so much hurt sit so open upon her features, and all at once Sakusa becomes painfully aware that Miya is not as unguarded and mindlessly optimistic as she seems. "You're right. I'm just a pain in yer ass. I won't bother ya anymore; gods know you have yer hands full protecting yourself as it is."

She turns to leave, and Sakusa's voice catches in her throat. No, no. This is all wrong. She can't go - that's not what Sakusa was trying to say. Miya will leave, and she'll be all alone again. "Miya, that's not what I meant - you're not a burden-"

Pale eyes flash as Miya's head whips around one last time. A hand comes up to swipe at the dewy tears threatening to spill from her glassy eyes. 

"Really? Because ya sure act like I am, sometimes," she replies harshly, and with that, she's gone. 

Sakusa says nothing. The tablet sits beside her, discarded in the heat of the moment. It lays there mockingly as the unwelcome silence of the cave wraps around her throat, the first thing she's drawn in years that hasn't ended up the same as the rest. A snap of rage, blind and razor-sharp, slams into her, and she sends the tablet clattering to the ground. 

Her breaths are heavy and uneven, laden with unspoken emotions. She can't remember the last time she cried - it was years upon years ago - but the dull sob that sits like a stone in her throat is all too familiar. Sakusa will not cry. Her heart, like her home, is made of stone, and that is how it will remain. She repeats it like a mantra as she curls into the swell of makeshift blankets, shielding herself from the cave's opening with a wall of soft fabrics. 

Somewhere on the floor, the drawing of a blonde woman with a smile sweeter than the ripest berries gazes blankly at the ceiling.

* * *

Days pass.

Then a week. 

Sometimes Sakusa awakens with a zing of hope, because Miya might come by with more powders today, or perhaps a story of her sister from their childhood. The cruel, sinking feeling of a return to reality is always quick to follow, leaving her chest empty. She has to remind herself not to pick extra figs anymore.

The lingering hope that Miya will reappear slowly wanes.

Two weeks pass, and Sakusa slowly begins to look forward to nothing more than scrubbing her walls clean.

* * *

It has begun to turn colder, the days and weeks melting together into a flurry of sunsets. Autumn is approaching. 

Sakusa holds her wooden bowl tightly as she carefully makes her way to the fig tree. Her steps are balanced, delicate, sure to avoid any thorns or rabbit holes. The air today is warm, a goodbye to the summer months, and the breezes smell sweet and ripe. A good day to pick fruit. 

Above her head, a pair of sparrows flicker through the leaves. They twitter merrily, dancing back and forth around the purpled fruits, never quite close enough to touch. Their time to swoop in the warm sun is dwindling, and so they are making the most of what little time they have left. Sakusa almost feels the corners of her lips twitch upward at the sight. 

The fruits come off easily into her gentle hands. She feels each one over, letting the roundness kiss the surface of her palms, before placing them in the bowl. Her brief moments spent under the shade of the fig tree are the closest she gets to serenity.

And then, the moment is shattered by the roar of a man's voice through the trees.

"Get off of me, you bitch!" 

It sounds as though he's nearby. Sakusa is quick to place her bowl at the base of the tree, hoping to shield it from harm. She readies herself for the inevitable confrontation that lays ahead, grimaces at the thought of the man destroying the fig tree in his attacks. Slowly, silently, she moves out from under the tree. 

"No way! What, ugly, are ya too scared to fight me? I'll kick yer sorry ass four times over before you even get _close_ to that cave!" 

Her blood runs cold in her veins as the voice registers. A moment of tense silence passes before a dull _thwack_ rings through the air, followed by a shout of pain. Unadulterated fury rears its head at the sounds and their implications. Sakusa slips between the trees, anger flaring sharply in her stomach, desperately trying to reach where the voices are coming from. 

She comes to a halt at the edge of a small clearing, where a woman staggers to her feet, fingertips brushing tenderly over a freshly-blossoming bruise on her temple. She visibly winces from the pain that the touch brings, and Sakusa grits her teeth. 

In spite of the pain, Miya narrows her eyes at the man in front of her. He's large and brutish-looking, all square jaw and broad chest. It's evident that so much as one punch could be incredibly dangerous to the comparatively much smaller woman. He leers at her, a twisted smile working its way up his marred face. "You looked prettier without the bruise, but I'll still take it. Maybe after I behead the gorgon up in that cave of hers, I'll take you as my prize."

Swathes of red lick up the corners of Sakusa's vision. She moves silently between the trees around the clearing's borders, edging closer and closer to the man. He's beginning to advance on Miya, whose face is twisted in pure hatred. 

"I'd rather bite off my own tongue and choke to death on it," she spits, and his face darkens. 

The man raises his hand high into the air as Miya continues to glare, unseeing, in the direction of his voice. He's about to strike her across the face again, send her slender form crashing to the ground. All of the times that Sakusa has felt the pull of feral instincts pale in comparison to the tidal wave of white-hot rage that crashes through her. 

_How dare he?_

In a flicker of ashy green, Sakusa is behind him, hand clasping around his wrist, tight as a vice. Her lips curl into a satisfied sneer when she hears the bone shatter. The howl of pain that follows only deepens her sick enjoyment. Her other hand comes up to dig into the back of his neck, talon-like nails sinking ever so slightly into the pale flesh. 

"If you touch her again or come near my cave, I won't spare you the kindness of being turned to stone," she snarls in his ear. Her serpents hiss lowly, tongues flicking out to prod at his clammy skin. "I swear to the gods, I will take you apart piece by cowardly piece."

"Sakusa," Miya breathes, and Sakusa spares her a half-fond and half-exasperated glance. The anger has melted from her golden features, replaced by an expression that can only be described as completely awestruck.

Lips part in a small smile, revealing fangs that glint in the sunlight. "Hello, Miya."

Miya's eyes are blown wide, lips quirking at the corners despite the circumstances. "Wow," she says eloquently.

"Back to the matter at hand," Sakusa hisses, fangs dancing along the pliant skin of the man's neck, letting him know that excruciating pain is a mere clamp of the jaw away. "I suggest you run, far, and never return. It would be in your best interest to start soon, because I'm still deciding whether or not I want to just slaughter you in this moment."

And with that, she releases her grip on him for a fraction of a second and watches as he tears off as quickly as his legs will take him. He stumbles once, almost shooting a desperate glance over his shoulder to make sure she isn't close behind before realizing how that would end for him. She watches him disappear into the treeline, crashing and tumbling until his noises fade from earshot. 

She turns to face Miya, whose mouth is still gaping open. "You can close your mouth now, unless you want a couple of flies to take up residence there."

"Wow," Miya says again. "Ya just - and then he - wow." 

"So you've said." Her gaze flickers to the purpling bruise that stains tanned skin and she feels herself soften. The adrenaline begins to trickle out of her veins, replaced with a simmering concern. "He hurt you."

The blonde seems to finally right herself. She shoots Sakusa a winning smile, but it's less than convincing. "Barely. I would'a shown him who was boss, don'tcha worry."

"I'm sure you would have," Sakusa replies, fighting off a small grin. "You're quite tough. I have a poultice of lavender back in the cave that I'd like to help you apply, though. Gods know you would manage to hurt yourself worse if you did it on your own."

"I-" Miya hesitates for a moment, and a bolt of worry shoots down Sakusa's spine. Maybe it was idiotic to assume that any further help would be wanted at all. But it's soon over, and Miya is once again smiling at her like she hung the stars in the sky. "You're probably right. But I don't want ya thinkin' I need yer assistance for everything, got it? I'm not helpless!"

Sakusa, in a fleeting flicker of leftover courage, takes Miya's tanned palm in her own. The scales on the back of her hand glints a pale green in the midday light, but she can't bring herself to mind. "I wouldn't enjoy your company if I thought you were."

Allowing herself the luxury of a rare smile, she leads Miya through the trees, back home.

She forgets all about the figs at the base of the tree until later that night.

* * *

Sakusa begins to pick enough fruit for two again.

* * *

At some point, Sakusa begins to allow Miya to touch her. 

In months prior, she had shied away from any sort of physical contact. This was something that Miya had been quick to catch onto, and as soon as she learned of it, she had worked to be entirely conscious of her actions. Sakusa would sit a foot away from her in her sleeping area, and Miya would refrain from bumping their ankles together under the table. 

To her credit, it seemed as though Miya had been making a tremendous effort to be so respectful. She may be brash and crude at times, with a foul mouth to rival any sailor, but she was careful to never push past the lines that Sakusa had so carefully drawn in the sand. It showed in her aborted shoulder-brushes and the deliberate slowness to reach for berries, as if to warn Sakusa of potentially impending contact. 

But now, something has shifted. It's as if the sun has begun to rise a few meters to the right. Sakusa doesn't recoil at the thought of Miya's touch. She had taken the blonde's hand all too brazenly in the forest, but to no consequence. Her hand had been warm and soft, devoid of thick callouses. It took Sakusa two full days and nights to realize that she wanted to touch Miya's hand again.

So when she allows her shoulder to bump against Miya's as they sit and exchange idle banter on her bed, a small chuckle escapes from between her lips as Miya stutters momentarily and begins to shuffle away. 

"Stay," she says quietly, and that is that.

* * *

Miya's head is slumped against her shoulder one day, blonde hair cascading down her back and Sakusa's chest, when Sakusa finally finds her voice. "If you want to bring your sister, you may."

In an instant, Miya's glowing. It's as if Sakusa dragged the sun right into her cave; her pale eyes are set alight with excitement, lips split in a ridiculously wide smile. "Really? Ya mean it?"

"I mean it," Sakusa huffs, but casts a grudgingly affectionate smirk in the blonde's direction. "But she must use two blindfolds, just in case."

"I'll make her bring food for ya!" Miya's skin glints bronze in the sunlight, and Sakusa almost wonders why she didn't acquiesce sooner.

* * *

Sakusa didn't know what she had been expecting, but when Miya - as in, Atsumu - comes hollering into the cave and dragging an exasperated-seeming copy of herself by the wrist, all she can do is shake her head resolutely. 

"Sakusa! Come meet my dumb sister!"

"Real bold of ya to call _me_ the dumb one," Osamu grumbles. 

They look almost exactly the same, minus a couple of key differences - Osamu's hair is an ashen-gray color, rather than blonde, and her skin is slightly paler. She is, of course, equally pretty, and while her eyes have been thoroughly hidden from view, they're probably a riveting chocolate shade. The Miya family was seemingly blessed with abnormally nice facial features. 

Something about Osamu's immediate instinct to take a jab at her sister tells Sakusa that they'll get along seamlessly. 

Atsumu scoffs. "Because you are. I'm blind and make my merry way up here every two days. Yer sorry ass tripped twice on the way up and ya have a pair of workin' eyes." 

"Hello," Sakusa says over the clamor of her voice. "You're Osamu, I presume?"

Osamu visibly starts, but she shakes it away after a moment. "Yeah, that's me. Nice to meet you, but I'm sorry that ya had to meet the lesser twin first."

"It really is a shame," Sakusa replies with a nod.

 _"Lesser twin?"_ Atsumu half-yowls. "'Samu, I take ya up to meet the person I've spent more time with than anyone else in town, a literal slayer of legions an' all, and yer first choice is to call me the _lesser twin?"_

Osamu shrugs. "Just tellin' it like it is." 

It's met with another round of vehement protests, but it seems that after years of living under the same roof, Osamu has learned to tune her out. Sakusa both admires her skill and pities her eardrums. 

As promised, Osamu has brought a very generous amount of food, nothing like the leftovers and torn-off pieces that Atsumu had been sneaking off. She hands the basket to Sakusa, clumsy without the usual aid of vision, and lets herself be guided to sit. Astumu does the same, quiet as Sakusa opens the basket. 

The sight that greets her makes her mouth water: blocks of cheese and a fresh load of bread, clusters of grapes, and strips of dried fish and even a few quail eggs, speckled shells reflecting the soft light of the sun. It's more fresh food than she has within a season; while such things may be commonplace for the townsfolk, to venture far from her cave is to put herself at immense risk. Quail eggs and cheese are an extremely rare treat. 

"Thank you," Sakusa says simply, but her tone betrays the true extent of her gratitude. "It's been a very long time since I've been able to enjoy such a luxury."

"Luxury?" Osamu parrots, before Atsumu leans over to whisper something in her ear. "Oh, I see. Well, if ya ever want anything, just let Atsumu know when you see her and I'll help her gather things in town."

Sakusa clenches her jaw to stave off the subtle rise of emotion in her throat. "You're very kind."

Atsumu snickers her disagreement, but Osamu pays her little mind. "Nah. I just wanna make sure that my idiot sister's caretaker is being shown appreciation for her services."

The snickering stops as Atsumu casts a withering glare to the side. "Man, you're both two of a kind. Caretaker, very funny. Want me to tell Sunarin about yer little stumbles during our hike today?"

A flush begins to work its way across her twin's cheeks, tinting the skin there a deep pink. Sakusa watches the spectacle with mild interest. "She won't believe ya! It's my word against yers."

"Sure thing, idiot!"

Osamu scowls briefly. "Oh, so ya can threaten me all ya want but suddenly it's taboo for me to bring up yer ragin' cr-"

"Nothing!" Atsumu shrieks, lunging awkwardly to clamp a hand over her sister's mouth. She misses, but only barely, and deftly adjusts to better mute whatever words were to come next. 

Sakusa's eyebrows lift. Now it's Atsumu's turn to flush red, though this shade is significantly less delicate than Osamu's was. Rather than a rosy pink hue, she's the color of a particularly ripe strawberry in the height of the summer months. The blush reaches all the way to the tips of her ears and down her neck, turning her cheeks slightly blotchy with embarrassment. 

_She's very cute sometimes,_ Sakusa thinks, and then blinks rapidly as soon as it crosses her mind.

That evening, when the sun has long since sun beyond the horizon, the last of her rays kissing the hills goodbye with flashes of coral and scarlet, Sakusa bids the sisters farewell. A promise from Atsumu to come and "bother the hell outta her tomorrow" hangs lightly in the air, settling in a soft layer of ease that follows Sakusa as she collects the used wooden plates and stacks them neatly into a pile. 

Somehow, she's grown used to this feeling of domesticity, the knowledge that when she wakes up tomorrow, Atsumu will be there with her sparkling smile and brash excitement. Her blonde hair will glow with the rising sun at her back, her tanned skin rich and bronzed, the soles of her feet pattering softly across the cave floor as she makes her way around the space that she now knows by heart. 

And maybe tomorrow, they will go to the stream and wash their faces of dirt and grime, or perhaps Atsumu will sit still long enough for Sakusa to transfer her likeness onto a slat of wood (this usually takes some convincing, but Sakusa finds that the berries she bribes her with are worth the end result many times over). It may end up being one of those days where they don't do much at all; they may resign themselves to simply lounging together in a tangle of limbs and body heat that has become increasingly welcome as the breezes blow colder. 

Whatever they do, Sakusa knows she will enjoy it. She also knows that when Atsumu goes, she'll linger for a moment at the cave's entrance as something hangs between them. It's always broken when she raises a hand in farewell or shouts her raucous "'till tomorrow, Sakusa!" Yet it diligently wavers there for a second or two every time, and it likely will continue to do so until one of them deciphers how to break this unspoken spell. 

Above all else, Sakusa knows that Atsumu, at times ridiculous and other times painfully kind, is not a danger to her. She may bicker and whine, grow irritable when hungry and pouty when ignored, but she means well. She will protect Sakusa in a funny way all her own, and Sakusa will do the same for her and her sister that she loves so dearly. 

So as she's on the brink of sleep and her foggy mind begins to spout all of the thoughts that she stows away in the daylight hours, Sakusa remains unsurprised when most of her thoughts are about golden hair and feet that press leaves into the ground as they run. She drifts off into blackness and dreams of golden skin underneath her fingertips and a pair of soft, rosy lips ghosting across her cheek, above the scaled column of her neck. 

She wakes, and blinks confusedly. 

_Atsumu?_

Except: of course it's Atsumu who would invade her dreams, because Atsumu has invaded every moment of her waking hours and simply could not settle until she had conquered Sakusa's dreamscape as well. She's shoved and hollered and rambled her way into Sakusa's life and if luck is on the her side, there she will stay.

* * *

Autumn turns into winter.

Sakusa adds a few new swaths of fabric to her bed, but less frequently than before. Food is scarcer now, but she still ventures out to collect what she can find. Atsumu notices the change in her form, and brings baskets laden with leftover meals and preserves every week. 

"You're skinnier than you were before," she remarks over Sakusa's shoulder, a teasing lilt to her voice. Her hand runs up the length of Sakusa's side, fingertips fluttering over the cloth gathered around her thinning form. She hopes that her pulse doesn't thunder loudly enough for Atsumu to hear it. "Here, and here, and here. Ya need to eat more."

Sakusa half-shrugs into the pile of cloth. They spend more time lazing around now, basking in each other's warmth. "It always happens around this time of year. I'll manage."

She's swatted across the shoulder, causing a couple of serpents to hiss their distaste. "No way. Yer bones keep pokin' me, and if ya keep getting thinner, I may have to find a new person to lay my head on."

"Anything but that," Sakusa replies dryly, earning her another swat. 

The next day, she can hear Atsumu before she sees her. 

"Hey, skinny! I've gotcha some real food!" The blonde crows, proudly brandishing the basket in her arms. And then she nearly trips, causing her to make an incredibly unflattering squawking noise that leaves Sakusa trembling with laughter. "Hey, I can hear you!" 

Her feigned irritation cracks quickly under the light of her beaming grin.

* * *

As the days turn colder and colder, the winds harsher and harsher, Sakusa begins to worry about Atsumu's near-daily trips up and down the slope. It grows dark quickly and the air outside becomes unkind and unyielding when the sun slips out of sight. Thus, she offers the most logical solution (and, coincidentally, an extremely selfish one): that Atsumu stay the night, every now and then. 

Thankfully, Atsumu seems eager to accept. Her eyes glow with a renewed radiance and she sits up straighter with a "I thought ya would never ask!"

This is how Sakusa finds herself laying in her bed with a tousled head of blonde hair resting under her chin. She can feel the rhythmic rising and falling of Atsumu's chest pressing against her ribs, rhythmic and soothing but not quite indicative of the lull of sleep yet. She feels Atsumu's arm flop across her stomach and sucks in a quiet breath at the sensation, hoping that the other woman didn't notice. 

But, naturally, she does.

"Ya alright, Sakusa?"

She clears her throat uncomfortably. "Yes, I'm fine."

"Okay."

And Atsumu presses up closer against the scales of her neck, serpents having parted to make room for her presence out of habit more than anything else. She smells faintly of ripe peaches and rosemary sprigs. Sakusa's stomach twists itself into knots. 

"Sakusa?"

She snaps out of her trance. "Yes?"

"Are ya happy?"

_Happy?_

Sakusa pauses to consider this. She'd nearly forgotten the feeling after so many years spent with her teeth bared and her pulse quick with desperate adrenaline. Happiness had left her behind as so many other things had done, and anger had sunk its roots deep into her soul. 

But then she thinks of Atsumu and her endless chatter and bright, pale eyes. Of Osamu and her diligence and warm foods. She thinks of the fig tree she has come to adore and the way the light hits the entrance of her cave just right in the mornings, leaving the walls glittering with multicolored stone. She thinks of baskets of food carefully carried up the slope to her home and fine, richly hued powders and the bracelets woven and traded for them. 

She turns over so her arm wraps around Atsumu's side, cradling her head in the crook of her neck. They are pulled flush against each other, warm and breathing and beautifully alive. "Yes, I think I am."

"That's good," Atsumu murmurs. Her voice sends tremors down Sakusa's spine. "I'm glad for ya, Sakusa. I really am."

"Kiyoomi."

"What?"

Sakusa muffles a smile with the top of Atsumu's head. Her lips press into the fine hairs, soft and curling in places. "My name. It's Kiyoomi."

"Oh," Atsumu says, and Sakusa can feel the matching smile pressing into her neck. Her lips are petal-soft. "It's a very pretty name. It fits you."

Sakusa tries not to think too hard about the obvious compliment, but in the shelter of the dark, she makes no effort to hide the warmth that creeps up her cheeks. 

"Goodnight, Atsumu."

"G'night, Omi."

* * *

Their touches begin to linger for an extra second before they pull away. Atsumu rests her palm upon the scaled back of Sakusa's hand when they sit and talk, and Sakusa even lets her touch her serpents sometimes. Atsumu attempts to give them all names but inevitably forgets every single one. It's a game she loses every day, and every day she tries again. 

Sakusa stops cutting her figs in half; instead, she allows Atsumu to take a bite from the one she's holding, and they pass it back and forth until the pulp is sticky between their fingers and on their chins. They laugh and laugh and Sakusa dutifully tries her best not to remember the way Atsumu smiled into the fruit as she took her first bite. 

In the nights, they curl together, swathed in makeshift blankets and lounging on plush pillows and whispering stories to one another until their giggles fade into even inhales and exhales. They are slow to rise in the mornings, like they couldn't have a care in the world, warm breath and eyelashes fluttering to battle off the seduction of more sleep. 

When Atsumu leaves, she takes Sakusa's hand in her own with the promise to return tomorrow, and if not then, the day after that. 

"See ya, Omi-Omi!" She always calls over her shoulder, sometimes tripping over a loose stone or bumping into a tree in her giddy haste.

Sakusa always does her best to appear exasperated at the increasingly-ridiculous nicknames, but her lips always betray her by tipping upward at the corners. When Atsumu is safely out of sight, she often allows the half-smile to remain upon her face, a faint warmth dancing across the apples of her cheeks.

* * *

"Hey, d'you think I could keep a spare tunic here for when I stay the night?"

"As long as you promise not to get mine all wrinkled and dirty."

"When have I ever?"

"Would you like the list alphabetized or by date?"

"So mean, Omi-Omi. Always so quick to criticize me for my mistakes."

"Not always. If I criticized you all the time, we'd have no room for further conversation."

_"Hey!"_

* * *

They're curled together in Sakusa's bed in the morning when it finally happens. The first rays of daylight have begun to stream into the gave, setting the walls and Atsumu's skin aglow with their soft radiance. Her eyes flicker open and closed, golden hair streaming onto the crimson pillow in a river of sunlight, rippling and twisting as she turns her head. She's warm and sleep-drunken and so beautiful that Sakusa may die if she doesn't look away. 

"Mornin', Omi," she says, voice coming with the tiniest rasp. "Did ya sleep well?"

Sakusa's breaths come irregular and shuttering in her chest. "Very. And you?"

"Wonderfully." Pale amber eyes fall closed for another moment as a slow, syrupy smile winds its way up the corners of her mouth. "You're beautiful, ya know that?"

The world comes to a pause. Sakusa's inhale catches midway through her throat, and she battles to gulp it down. Blood roars in her ears, drowning out even the frantic pounding of her heart. Someone like Atsumu finds her beautiful? The gorgon with the head of serpents and the scaled hands and the mottled-green skin? 

When she's met with only silence, Atsumu chuckles. "I know that you don't think ya are. But I can feel it, y'know? Yer body is strong and graceful, like the statue of a goddess. You're lethal, made to kill, but so gentle when ya put yer hand over mine or let me put my head on yer chest."

Her hand comes up to touch Sakusa's cheek, nails barely trailing across the surface. It moves to the bridge of her nose, then over each eyelid. "And I can feel yer face, too. I can tell that you're beautiful. You have a nice nose and yer lips are soft. What color are your eyes?"

"Black," Sakusa breathes, having finally regained her voice. "Like how I described the night."

"Incredible," Atsumu replies, and it sounds as though she means it with every fiber of her being. Her hand comes to rest on Sakusa's cheek, urging her gently to turn her head so they're face to face. Her eyes glimmer with a flurry of unreadable emotions, but the smile that plays on her lips is nothing but heart-stoppingly honest. "You're breathtaking, Omi. I don't want ya to protect anybody but me."

Sakusa's chest heaves with every breath. It's as if she's feeling everything with doubled intensity, aware of each sensation from the silky cloth beneath her feet to the warmth of Atsumu's palm resting gently on her face. She's never felt so alive. "I'll protect you and those you call family for as long as you'll let me. Nobody else, I swear it."

The rope of tension that's hung between them for so long finally snaps with her words. Atsumu surges forward to crash their lips together, charged with excitement and adorably frantic because everything she does seemingly has to be. A moment of shocked elation passes before Sakusa is kissing back, eager to take every shred of devotion that Atsumu will give her. 

Their hands grab at wherever they can to pull each other closer: shoulders, arms, upper back. They're made of sun and wind and the petals of apple blossoms, beings of pure emotion and raw adoration. Sakusa never wants this moment to end, because Atsumu is finally hers. She's been waiting for this for so long, since long before she first realized meaning of the pull in her chest, and it's all worth it because Atsumu - beautiful, funny, ridiculous Atsumu - is pressing her lips against Sakusa's. 

They break apart, breathing unsteadily, and Atsumu's laugh is high with jubilation. "Gods, I've been wantin' to do that for _ages."_

"Me too," Sakusa confesses, and leans back in. 

They manage to reluctantly wrench themselves out of bed after another half hour or so of trading sweet kisses back and forth under the morning sun. Sakusa allows Atsumu to mash a berry directly into her nose with the intent of feeding her, and rather than mock her for her lack of aim, elects to press her lips to the center of her forehead. 

"Do I get this every time I miss yer mouth?" Atsumu teases. 

Sakusa rolls her eyes. "Not a chance. I'm just being extra nice to you right now."

They feast together on three figs and two handfuls of berries each, then a bit of cheese on two slices of toast. It's delicious and simple, the perfect meal to allow for obnoxious flirtations and kisses that simmer with the precious delight of a first love at winter's end.

* * *

Spring comes, melting away the cold fronts and the bitter chill in the air. The number of times that Sakusa can use the harsh wind as an excuse for Atsumu to remain in her bed through the night begin to dwindle, though Atsumu is insistent that the path down can also be extremely dangerous on some days, so she should stay the night regularly (for safety reasons, of course). 

A man wielding a gigantic broadsword approaches the cave one day when Atsumu is napping in the bed. His eyes grow wide when they first latch onto her slender form and his gaze takes on a disgustingly predatory gleam. He gets two steps closer to her before Sakusa lunges at him from the outcropping of stones, eyes flashing and fangs bared in unbridled anger. He's gone hours before Atsumu begins to rub at her eyes. 

Eventually, the proclamations of "you're beautiful" slip into "I love you." Sakusa welcomes them with a full heart, a quiet smile, and more often than not, a dry remark which earns her an only half-serious glare. 

The fig tree bears more fruit that year than Sakusa can ever remember it having in years prior. They're sweet and plump, a testament to the mild spring breezes and summer rainstorms, and Sakusa makes sure to pick as many as she can for them to enjoy at home. Her bowl is laden with figs, for her and Atsumu and Osamu, when she stops by. She's even introduced to Suna, who's always eager to let the twins bicker and brawl and offer clever remarks all the while. They get along quite well, unsurprisingly. 

Osamu teaches her new recipes to cook when she can. Atsumu insists on telling her that the food is good not because of her sister's recipe, but because Sakusa is naturally gifted in all things culinary. Sakusa's eye rolls never quite match the wry smiles that she no longer fights to keep off of her face.

They fall asleep together in a mess of blankets and hushed whispers, eager to greet the next day because it will surely be full of ripe berries and clear streams, love and laughter. Each morning, Sakusa takes a moment to revel in her lover's beauty, enveloped in a halo gifted to her by the sunrise. Her golden hair and pale amber eyes never fail to outshine the daylight itself.

* * *

Her name was Sakusa, and her tale was not a happy one. 

And then, for some odd reason, it was.

**Author's Note:**

> well, i said that this was going to be about 7k words and that absolutely did not happen because i am a loser who takes joy in writing 12k words of lesbian yearning. 
> 
> this has been sitting in my head for WEEKS, so if you have any comments or thoughts on it, all input is welcome!!


End file.
